Sweetness

I've held onto this post all day long, but to not publish it means that I'm STILL hiding and cowering. I can't let the shame that I feel continue to rule my life.

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I'm not quite sure how much psychology plays into what foods we crave on a daily basis, but I'm craving sweets BIG time.

All day long, all I can think about are cookies, shakes, ice cream, chocolate, and candy.

All. Day. Long.

A therapist that I saw many, many years ago said that when little kids steal candy, it's because they're really wanting something sweet...as in a sweet action towards them or for them. I stole candy ALL THE TIME when I was a kid (from my sisters or parents - not from the store). I'd hide it all over my room and then eat morsel after delicious morsel of sweet goodness - getting sick on the sugary sweetness of it all. I know the taste of tinfoil that wraps little candy eggs because getting all the foil off before shoving it in your mouth wasn't always necessary.

Every now and again I'll do the same thing, but it's been a while since I've been bitten by the sugar monster.

If there is any psychology related at all, I suspect it has everything to do with my mom's recent visit.

At one point, she told me that she thought that I was much more relaxed and at ease than I had been in a long time. I asked when she noticed the tenseness - was it when I moved to Colorado? Was it when I moved into my itty bitty tiny house a few years ago?

"No," she said. "It probably started around 6th grade."

I was shocked.

She said that I was always complaining that people were picking on me and that things weren't fair. She added, "What did you expect me to do about it?"

And, I could FEEL myself shrinking inwardly.

I wanted to yell:

What did I expect you to do? I expected you to stand up for me when I was being beaten up by bullies instead of telling me about how Christ turned the other cheek. When the friend from church came over and sat on me, tickling me until I peed, I expected you to tell his mom that she couldn't come over unless she watched her kid more closely. Instead, you invited him over for the next 10 years to continue to torment me as my older sister looked on and laughed. When my 8th grade teacher told me, in front of the class, that I couldn't ask any more questions because I irritated him, I expected you to have a conference with the principal and demand him to apologize to me. I expected you to stick up for me when my dad told me that I was getting fat and pudgy (and reminded me that no man likes "fatties"). I expected you to stand up for yourself when he said the same to you. I expected you to put a stop to the molestation that was happening to me in your own home.

Quite frankly, I expected you to be the adult. I expected you to let me be a kid without having to guard myself against constant attacks - against myself, my psyche, and my inner child. I expected you to be my safe place to fall.

In my whole life I've never been mad at my mom for not protecting me - I've felt sorry for her - that she was in her own version of hell. I know that she did as well as she could've. But it doesn't stop me from wishing that things were different.

Lately? I wish that I could've had that caring mom that I could've turned to and would've fixed the problems so that they didn't continue happening.

But they didn't. And so I grew up...comforting myself the way I knew how. And safeguarding myself as best I could against more attacks. I swore I'd never have kids - because I couldn't bear the thought of someone else feeling the way that I felt when I was growing up.

All of these thoughts drifted through my mind when she asked what I expected her to do. Knowing that she feels bad enough for what had happened, I dropped my head and just continued cutting up the t-shirts for the project we were working on.

I'm tired of the shame. But I'm realizing that the anger that's bubbling up is taking energy too. That leaves me feeling drained and down and hopeless than anything can or will change.

I wish I could put into words to someone what my life was like. Was it always horrible? No. There were good things. But it wasn't great. And it certainly wasn't healthy.

I wish I could feel heard.

I wish I could feel understood.

But instead, I eat.

(sigh)